Ghosts
by AnnaCromwell
Summary: "We all have our ghosts - some benign, and some that refuse to be exorcised." A collection of semi-connected one-shots and vignettes exploring the history of the Horsemen - the light and the dark moments that make up their pasts, and the ghosts that refuse to stop haunting them.
1. Jack - Secrets

**This is a collection of semi-connected one-shots and vignettes about the pasts of the Four Horsemen (plus Dylan and Alma), delving deeper into the murky, dark and unexplored parts of their lives that, along with the happier moments, have made them who they are.**

 **WARNING - Mentions of mental and physical child abuse in this chapter, so proceed at your own risk.**

* * *

 ** _Till all my sleeves are stained red,  
From all the truth that I've said  
_**

 ** _So tell me what you want to hear,  
_** ** _Something that will light those ears  
_** ** _Sick of all the insincere,  
I'm gonna give all my secrets away_**

 ** _-_ One Republic, "Secrets"  
**

Jack has always been the soft target.

When he was a child, the foster system often shuttled him between houses, and even though he was a pretty boy with a pretty face and an attitude as meek as his soft voice, no family never really kept him for long. Part of the reason was his kleptomania, but part of the reason was that the Piano Room monster, as they called it, never truly abandoned him.

It all started on his tenth birthday.

He had been in foster system for two years, and was quietly sneaking outside his dorm when a tall, thin man with a soft smile beckoned at him. If the small cake and the ten candles flickering on it had not been inviting enough, Jack saw a pack of cards and a small magic kit in the man's hand, and tiptoed as fast his small feet could noiselessly carry him.

The man leads him down a corridor unexplored, with Jack having never set foot there due to the older children and the warden living there. At the end of the hallway, they enter what seems like a piano room, from the likes of it. "Happy Birthday, kiddo," the man says, pushing the small chocolate cake towards him. Jack, having never experienced such goodness from anyone since the death of his parents, gobbles down the cake as fast he can, relishing the change in taste from the flavourless grey porridge they eat everyday.

The man nudges the pack of cards of him."The kids say you're good. Want to show me?" After being ridiculed for so long by most people, he's glad to find someone who appreciates his little skill set.

For the first few weeks, he's thrilled, knowing that he has a play partner who will cheer for him in his little midnight "shows", whisper-yelling and hooting, his twenty thousand clapping like one.

He receives a chocolate for every trick the man manages NOT to decipher (which are quite a few), and his roommates are surprised to see the quite little 'Wildermouse' boisterous and more confident than ever.

A few months later, the favours became a lot more personal.

"Hey buddy, want to see something more?" He fills up with hate and self-loathing now, wishing his round-faced naive self had been a little more suspicious and a lot less trusting. The man leads him down the same corridor, but this time, they don't stop at the piano room. "It might hurt a little, but I promise, it will be fun," the man whispers as he feels a hand tug at his faded jeans.

A few hours later, he is huddled in a corner. He hurts terribly, but what makes him cry is the fact that it all feels so _**wrong**_ , whatever it is. No one has ever touched him like this - _my parents loved me too, but they never touched me like that._

He tries to tell himself it was nothing when the following morning a box of chocolates bigger than he had ever seen is presented to him, and a promise that the man will come back for him soon.

And he does, but when that nine year old tearfully clutching her teddy is led in by the matron, the man momentarily forgets his existence, and as much as it annoys Jack to be deprived of his treats, he's glad he isn't bleeding and bruised anymore. Three weeks later, Jack notices the teddy bear girl (Cara, he later learns) huddled in a corner outside the piano room, sobbing as she tugs at her frayed and badly-stained baby blue dress.

"I want mummy," she mumbles, and Jack looks around for a chocolate he can sneak from the girl, just so he can present like a treat to cheer her up, but finds none.

"He didn't give you any chocolate?" She looks at him, shaking her head with tear-filled eyes. A matron passes by, her eyes skating the corridor as if avoiding a bothersome insect. He vows the little girl will never have to enter the piano room again, and, thinking upon that now, his chest fills with something akin to pride and shame mixed together - at the self-sacrifice and that crippling feeling of having no other way out.

So when he returns from the seventh home he's been kicked out of, he's glad at seeing a family smile at him in a way that indicates adoption.

Quiet, unassuming and devilishly handsome, they pronounce a thirteen year-old him a perfect fit for their household. "He will be a lovely older brother for our little girl - Jack and Jane!" The lady cooes as he hugs him, stroking his brown hair as the father beams in delight.

After a few weeks of quiet, he is returning from the neighbourhood soccer game, wishing a teammate goodbye when a large figure blocks his way.

Jack remembers blindly sprinting, frantically latching every bolt in the house, much to the consternation of his mother as her adoptive son runs to his room as if running for dear life. It's only when the new gardener's undue interest in him is seen does she realise the case.

"He needs to be sent back," she reasons with her husband a fortnight later, him hiding behind the stairs, paralysed with fear. He isn't going back to that hellhole - _not ever._ So when he hears his adoptive father agreeing, he takes the few things he holds dear, along with a few hundred dollars, and bolts.

Ten hours later, when his sleepy eyes open to the Penn Station, New York City, joy and relief fill him on the realisation of his freedom, and the fact that Boston and its terror are long left behind.


	2. Daniel - Colours

**Warning - Mentions of self-harm and substance abuse in this chapter.**

 _ **Your little brother never tells you but he loves you so,  
You said your mother only smiled on her TV show**_

 _ **You're only happy when your sorry head is filled with dope,  
I hope you make it to the day you're 28 years old**_

 **\- Colors, Halsey**

Daniel's life has always been a blur of colors.

The other Horsemen complain about how controlling he is, never allowing fate to take its course. But Daniel has been hurt too much by giving in to chance and fate, and the rapid blur of colors that is life has left him blinded one too many times to let him allow it to change shades now.

* * *

The first twelve years of life were bright and vibrant, like a bright spring day.

He remembers his younger brother and the days spent together, Daniel beaming with the pride of an older brother who has succeeded in becoming the epitome for his younger sibling. He's glowing with glee, his brown hair burning bronze in the Massachusetts sun as his brother stares with wide-eyed wonder at the pillow fort his seven-year old brother has constructed - it's tall and firm, and little Ben can scurry through the various 'rooms', playing hide-and-seek with Daniel till their parents call for dinner.

He remembers the nights secretly spent stargazing, and Daniel smiles at the memory of him patching up Ben while his brother sobs at the throbbing pain in his foot, a stack of heavy books and telescope lying in ruin across the library floor.

"You're an idiot Benji, you know that, right?" He chastised while dipping the swab in Savlon, grimacing at the cut on his brother's knee. "What five-year old can lift a telescope single-handed standing on a stack of books?"

"You can," Ben sticks his tongue out.

"I'm eight, you idiot," Daniel retorts, smiling gently as he hugs his sobbing baby brother. They straighten the telescope, and Daniel identifies twelve of the eighty-eight constellations for Ben, who's trying to write their names in crayon in his sketchbook, and Daniel teaches him grammar and cursive in his spare hours, Ben declaring him a genius when he returns with the first prize at the inter-school science fair. He remembers his little brother sneaking out cocoa for him, the two making ramen and hot chocolate at one in the night to help Daniel study for his finals.

"Why are you studying two years ahead, Danny?" He remembers Ben asking one snowy night, and Daniel's trying to solve a particularly bothersome binomial while his brother boils water on the discarded Bunsen burner Daniel snuck out from the Chemistry lab.

"So that I can graduate younger than anyone else at school and attend MIT when I'm sixteen and start my own company like Steve Jobs after that."

"I'll be our Wozniak," Ben proudly proclaims, his laptop beeping as the code finishes compiling. Daniel looks at his old beat-up laptop, comparing with his MacBook, and thinks of getting Ben a new one from his savings as a birthday present.

"Why not me? I'm good at coding."

"You're better at speaking - obviously you're Jobs."

"Well, I'm the geekier one - you'll be the face of the company."

"No, you're like Jobs - all the girls love you," he smiles impishly.

"And who says so?" Daniel retorts, his pale face blushing a furious pink.

"Well, Isabella Summers think so."

"She does?" his younger brother laughs at the hopeful smile, and the memory makes him hurt, remember the deluge of gray that follows in his life.

* * *

Between courtroom hearings and custody battles, he feels helpless and broken, and Ben's tear streaked face burns in his memory as his father drags him away, wiping away tears from as he yells at his ex-wife, begging her to return his younger son to him, but Mother is unrelenting, taking a screaming Ben away.

Daniel shuts his eyes, resting his head against the cold glass of the Beetle, desperately trying to wake up from his nightmare, but it solidifies into reality as they stop at his uncle's house, his aunt giving him a sympathetic look as she pulls her nephew close, but none of that matters, because Ben isn't here and Father is too upset to care even for herself.

It's a new school and new people, and he is all smiles for his teachers, being the best student they could ever ask for.

And he's happier now, knowing that the bi-monthly custody visit is near, and he'll be seeing his brother soon, and Ben and Danny can explore the Bay Area on their own, buying chocolate from Ghirardelli as a birthday present for himself, trekking over to Stanford and munching on waffles as they stare at those tall redwoods dotting the university's campus, bringing their long cherished plans soon into action, because Danny is only three years away from 18, and soon he'll be taking Ben away, ready to fight a custody battle against his parents.

It's when he finds the house locked, and his uncle waiting to drive him to the hospital, that his life plunges into darkness.

* * *

Like his clothes and those caskets, all he can see is black.

His father and brother lie in those boxes of teak, and all that Daniel holds dear is gone forever now. The pastor drones on about two wonderful lives, and Daniel is inflamed, because _Mother called that guy and she's a fucking liar, she doesn't care and never cared._ It's his turn to speak, and all he does is stare blank-eyed at the caskets, and the next thing he knows, he's running, running in the hailstorm that has descended upon the city now, the skies grey and rumbling with thunder, and he wants to feel the same rage, but all he feels is cold and numb, like the icy water hitting his skin.

His teachers give him leeway and commend his spirit, and his uncle gives everything his favourite nephew wants, praising how he is a strong young man who can pull himself out of the worst life can throw at him, but he doesn't know that Daniel is sinking in a marsh he created for himself.

The blackness fades to a dull grey as the meth makes its way in his veins, the pain ebbing away like a receding tide. There are days when he carves another tally mark with a knife on his right arm, but this dullness and numbness is preferable when the noise and the aching get too much for him. Somewhere in this chaos, he finds a companion in magic - a science and art ready to whisk him away from reality, just like the drug in his bloodstream. He wonders if he'll end up joining the 27 Club, and even though a part of him screams idiot, his life isn't worth living anyway right now, and with this being the case, he's ready to become a part of the statistic of drug overdose deaths.

Months later, he graduates as the valedictorian of his class, and his uncle and aunt want him to attend Stanford (which has gladly accepted him), but he's going home, going back to finish that one last wish of his brother.

The darkness is fading, replaced by the jaded shades of desert summer as he prepares to leave behind whatever is left of his family, and of himself.

* * *

The pastel shades have an indie feel to them.

He stands alone in his dorm room, staring at the remnants of his past. He remembers discarding all that he once held dear, splurging a part of his inheritance on a new wardrobe, a new identity, a new _**him**_.

At first, students in the Mechanical & Aerospace Engineering and Computer Programming courses wonder who the blue-eyed, dark-haired guy in a shirt and sweater with that permanent 5:00 shadow is, sitting at the back of the class, rarely participating but acing every test in class. He's left behind the wide-eyed geek in sweatshirts and sweatpants, and J Daniel Atlas is a ladies' man, the object of attraction for every girl in his course, the magician the envy of every boy who knew him.

They come and go, and Daniel remembers his first - last year of college, a warm June afternoon, and finals week had just gotten over. They were loud, drunk and alone in her room, her marveling over a magic trick he had just shown her.

"But how did you do that?" She muses, her bright grey eyes staring him down for all its worth. "Ahh, the sleeves," she mumbles, fumbling with his jacket - minutes later, the jackets are off, and she's teasing the shirt off him.

She wakes up to an empty bed and a missing magician, a king of hearts the only proof of his presence.

* * *

Street shows and Henley Reeves barge into his life like an explosion of colours, turning his life into a collection of sharp details and vivid frames.

He's done his third successful show in New York, and feels quite satisfied when he sees that feisty lady with the bunny, yelling at an eager audience. Something about that red hair and the fiery attitude of its owner draws him to that show.

She turns the top hat, and the fat white rabbit emerges, leaving Daniel disappointed - he expected more from her. But then she looks at his scowl, and he sees a spark of defiance in her eyes.

"Well, who wants to see the hat turn into Houdini?" And, with a quick flick of the wrist and some deft handiwork, she turns the rabbit into a hat, and Daniel feels like someone lit a bright blaze in him, warming every part of his icy demeanour. The genuine surprise on her face isn't helping, and he can see that this was a trick she hadn't mastered, and the innocent glee brings a smile to his face,her eyes lighting up with genuine happiness.

A few hours later, they're sitting in a Starbucks with stale pizza, and Daniel states how desperately he needs an assistant, and how Henley is the only one he finds competent enough to fill that role. She states her rather desperate state and how she would prefer to have a stable job with an established artist. They don't sign any paperwork, but that bright grin and that hastily scrawled name and number - _**Henley Reeves**_ \- are all the documentation he needs.

The New York skyline seems a lot brighter now.

* * *

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